4

Chapter 4

Anya

The other white guy tied her hands to the bed, and his hands were free to move over her body. He started squeezing her breasts, and I brought up a hand to play with my own nipple. I knew I shouldn’t be getting anything out of this except pure disgust, but I couldn’t deny I was turned on watching the two of them vanquish the black girl.

She maintained her fight for a while, even biting one of them on the cock the first time he tried to put it in her mouth. Her reluctance gradually faded as they focused on touching and teasing her. I doubted they were contractually obligated to ensure she enjoyed it, but they seemed to want to win her over to their idea rather than hurt her.

The one who’d eaten her out now slid between her thighs, his cock lining up with her pussy. The camera angle showed that, but not actual penetration. Instead, it went to her face. She was clearly shocked for a moment, and then it was obvious she was enjoying it. Her mouth fell open, and when the other guy pressed his dick against her lips that time, she took it with a moan.

Watching the two of them fucking her had me slipping a hand into my panties. My fingers were drenched in my own cream, and that was before I started touching myself. I pumped my fingers into my opening in time with the guy inside her bucking his hips. I licked my lips and briefly wondered what it would be like to have a cock stuffed in my mouth while another was in my pussy.

She was now quivering and crying out, and it was obvious her reluctance was over. The guy in her mouth pulled out and came on her face, which normally would’ve disgusted me, but I was so turned on in the moment that it started my orgasm. As my sheath convulsed around my fingers, the camera pulled back to show the other guy pulling out to come on her stomach. She was shaking, and so was I from the force of my orgasm as I came harder than I ever had.

Afterward, I slumped in the chair, and guilt quickly overtook me for having participated in the show in any fashion. I should’ve shut it off the moment I realized what was happening.

But the idea crept into my brain before I could stop it. How much money did those women make for participating?

In an effort to find out, I started clicking links. At first, I ended up in one of the cottages, with a man who had vanquished one of the two blondes competing. He had her bent over the couch and appeared to be ramming himself into her ass as hard as he could. She was crying, and tears streamed down her face. It made my stomach clench, and I quickly exited out of that room.

It was like a splash of cold water in the face, reminding me that not all the participants got an enjoyable time. My cursor hovered over the X that would close the program for a moment, but I forced myself to move back to the menu button, this time finding the page that detailed how to compete.

I skimmed some of it, my eyes going immediately to the numbers. “One hundred thousand dollars,” I whispered aloud. I leaned closer, intent on reading the fine print, and discovered I could earn another fifty-thousand-dollar bonus for being a virgin.

It wasn’t enough to cover the debt, but would maybe buy us some breathing room. It would certainly be enough to flee. I could get my sisters to safety with a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and I doubted Ivanov would follow us if we went halfway around the world or something. The details of my plan were still sketchy, but I knew that kind of money was the difference between being forced into sexual servitude to the man and having my sisters at his mercy, or getting them somewhere safe.

As I read on, I discovered that if I managed to evade all the hunters, I would win a million dollars. They were quick to point out that only one woman had been successful in doing so in the three years the show had been broadcasting to its elite subscribers. There was a link to her profile, and I clicked on it out of curiosity. She was a lovely woman with dark hair and dark eyes. The site didn’t give her full name, but her first name was Rachel, and her background included two years in the Israeli army, along with another four years is the Sayeret, which were Israeli special forces, according to the website. No wonder she managed to evade all of her hunters.

I had to go into it realistically, knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to avoid them. I hadn’t been camping in years, and I certainly wasn’t an outdoorsperson. I had no special skills for evasion, so if I signed up to participate, I was likely to be captured quickly. The most I could hope for would be a scenario where the hunter who claimed me didn’t hurt me too badly. It could also be something far worse, but I was guaranteed to be mostly safe and able to walk out at the end of the weekend.

So the question became, did I want to trade my body for one weekend for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars and secure my sisters’ safety, or be stuck for ten years as a sex slave to Ivanov and his operation—assuming he even let us go at the end of that time, or that all three of us survived that long?

That made my answer crystal-clear, and I quickly filled out the form.

A few minutes later, my phone dinged, telling me I had a new email. I pulled it out of my pocket and opened it, finding it was an in-depth questionnaire. I logged into my email account on Dad’s computer, needing to be able to see it easier, and filled out the P*F form.

Some of the questions were embarrassing, but I forced myself to persevere. When it asked if I was a virgin, and I marked yes, the next field asked if I was willing to submit to an exam to verify that. It was the only way to qualify for the fifty-thousand-dollar virgin bonus. I marked yes reluctantly, understanding it had to be done.

The final step of the application was to send photos of myself. Not just any photos, of course. I had to send a face shot to ensure I was photogenic, but I also had to send them a picture of my naked front and back, along with close-ups of my genitals.

The task was daunting, but was probably one way they weeded out the girls who weren’t actually serious about competing, or who might change their minds. I could still change my mind up until the morning of the hunt, as they so carefully called it in their paperwork, but I imagined they knew a girl who’d surrendered all those details about herself and pictures was less likely to quit than someone who didn’t have to give any personal information.

My dad had a webcam in his computer, so I was able to take the pictures after shooting a brief video of myself and taking screenshots. I attached them to the email along with my completed form and didn’t allow myself to back out of pressing “Send.”

It was done. If they accepted me, I had a way to get my sisters to safety. I had to have a backup plan though, because it could take weeks or months before I even made it to the show, assuming I was selected.

I went back upstairs and slid into bed beside my sister, my thoughts weighing heavily on me. The next forty-five minutes ticked past slowly, and I could see the numbers on the clock change each time a minute passed. I was nowhere near sleeping and was toying with the idea of getting up again when I heard my phone chime to alert me I had email. I opened it with a lump in my throat. Realistically, it would probably be from a friend, or perhaps some kind of advertisement. It was too early to be hearing back from the producers of “The Island,” wasn’t it?

When I opened the program, there was an email from someone named Sid Moreau. I didn’t recognize the name, and I opened it cautiously. I stared at it for half a moment, waiting for the words to sink in. It seemed unbelievable, but there it was:

Ms. Russo, you’re an answer to my prayers. One of our contestants lined up for this weekend broke her leg. I have an immediate opening if you can come prepared to participate. Get back to me as soon as possible, and I’ll send you the contract and travel arrangements.

I stared at it for a moment, certain I was dreaming. It seemed to fall into my lap, and while it wasn’t exactly an ideal solution to my problem, it was certainly better than the one Ivanov offered. My hand hovered for a moment before I clicked reply and confirmed I could be available for the next taping that weekend. Ready or not, I was about to be a contestant on “The Island.”